A Miracle Most Unlikely
by BadWolfGirl205
Summary: This is my version of how Snart would return to DC Legends - and to Sara. Because if Barry can screw with the timeline, then so can I.
1. Chapter 1

This is my version of how Snart should return to DC Legends. And Sara. Because if Barry can do whatever he wants to do to the timeline, then so can I.

After it had first happened, she refused to believe it.

It couldn't have been true.

She remembered the looks of pity that the rest of the team had given her at first. As if she was some wounded animal they all looked down on, as if she needed their pity.

That was far from the truth.

Mick was the only one who treated her as if she was a person.

Sara had started sleeping in Snart's room at night, disliking the empty feeling that had invaded her own room. When she was in Snart's room it was as if he was coming back, as if she wasn't quite as alone as she felt. Sometimes Mick would join her, coming into the room and simply sitting in there with her. Neither one of them would ever utter a word, simply sitting and remembering what they had lost.

They would remember Snart.

After a week or so, Sara started talking again. It was a while longer before she started feeling again, before she could let herself feel. Any emotion she might have felt would have been a betrayal, an act of heinous against his memory. So she chose not to feel. Chose not to love.

At the moment she was sitting on the floor of Snart's room, going through some old pictures on her phone. Laurel, her dad, Snart. She smiled at the last one – she'd taken it when he wasn't looking, capturing him at his best. That was one of the last missions we had been on before he died, not long after she had gotten back from the League.

She laughed out loud at the next picture. Apparently, Snart had had some fun on her phone, finding several snaps of Leonard giving her the finger, which she promptly returned, not even thinking about the motion.

She smiled, feeling a warm feeling somewhere deep in her chest. It was probably the first thing she had felt in a while. At that realization, her smile fell and the feeling vanished, betrayal and guilt replacing it.

"Don't give up, dammit."

Sara snapped her head back at the door, the origin of the voice. If she didn't know any better she'd think it was –

"You can't think like that, Sara."

She saw him. Really, truly, saw him. Snart.

Immediately she was torn between hundreds of different emotions, anger, disbelief, and hope. Small as it was, it was still there. Still thriving.

It was the only thing keeping Sara from snapping this false-Snart's neck at the moment. She jumped onto her feet, reaching for her bow staff located in the corner of the room.

"One step closer and you lose the hand," she warned the imposter. "Gideon," she started, "let the crew know we have a stowaway." She glared at the man standing before her, her eyes flashing in anger.

"Bastard," she spat. "You're not him. You can't be."

The man tilted his head, smirking at her, "I'm not what you think I am, Sara. I'm real." Sara looked at him, hesitating – she was torn.

He took advantage of that, taking a step closer to her. She tightened her grip on her bow staff.

"You can't be real, you can't be real," she muttered to herself. It just didn't make sense. "You're dead." She stated this as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world, when in reality it was probably the most heartbreaking. It was tearing her heart in two to look at him.

The fake Snart looked up at her, his gaze piercing her soul. "You've been dead before," he stated softly. "You know it's not impossible." His eyes were pleading, begging her to see the truth in his words.

Begging her to see _him_.

Something inside her broke at that moment – she didn't know what it was that did it. The eyes, the voice, the way he moved; it was pointless guessing. All that mattered was that she was broken, and weak, and angry at the death of a man that had shown up after months of mourning.

"Snart?" She looked up at those eyes, her voice failing her.

"Sara, I have to tell you," but he didn't get a chance to finish, Rip coming up from behind, knocking him out with the back of his gun.

"Bout time," she croaked, her voice failing her entirely. She sank to the floor, taking the imposter's head into her hands, her fingers tracing every inch of his face, hoping that it was real.

"Come on, Sara," Rip looked at her, "let's go see who's come aboard our ship." His eyes were soft. "Maybe.. ." he started, but it was too late. She wasn't listening anymore.

 _She placed Snart's head onto her lap, placing a soft kiss onto his brow. "I just want you back," she whispered into his ear. "Is that too much to ask?"_


	2. Chapter 2

Sara stared at Snart - or at least, she was half convinced it was Snart. Rip had carried him to the med-bay, taking care to be gentle with his body, in the event that it was him.

That it was Snart.

Gods did she hope it was Snart.

Gideon had been running a genetics test on him for the last half-hour or so, with each passing minute her patience fading a little faster. And, without fail, each time Sara would ask for a time estimate, she would get the same answer.

"I'm afraid I'm unable to make an accurate estimate as to when the results will be in, Ms. Lance."

She sighed in her seat, turning back to Leonard, trying to find a flaw in his features. Looking to see if there was something, _anything_ , that would mean that it wasn't him, and she could go back to locking herself up again. That meant she didn't have to get attached again.

 _He really was beautiful._

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He smirked at her, wincing as he tried to get up, feeling the bump Rip had given him earlier. "Rip sure doesn't hold back when he sees a dead man walking, does he?"

He looked at her, suddenly serious, that soft look back in his eyes.

Sara stiffened. She knew what was coming, and she wasn't sure if she could handle it right now. Not when she didn't know if he was real or not.

"Sara," Snart started, "we need to talk about what happened." He looked at her, his eyes burning into her soul.

"No." She was surprised at how firm her voice sounded, despite the torrid of emotions flooding her. She looked him dead in the eye, "I can't do this until I know it's Snart I'm talking to. I just.. ." Her voice cracked, "I can't go through it again." She straightened, ashamed of her moment of weakness.

Snart nodded at her, "I understand. Well," he conceded, "I don't, but I'll pretend to for the time being." Despite his nonchalant tone, Sara sensed his hurt, some part of her sympathizing.

"You know, when I lost him, I thought I was broken," Sara's voice trembled. She took a breath, "I thought to myself, 'not till Savage is dead, then I'll deal with the memories. Deal with him'. You can imagine how well that worked out." Sara turned to him, her eyes filled with a sorrow that she could tell he hadn't expected from her.

"I was dying on the inside, but there wasn't anything I could do about it, nothing to change what had happened." She smiled a sad sort of smile, "I even tried to find ways to bring you back. I spent weeks, _months_ searching every library, every database, to find something that could bring you back to me. But I couldn't, I just -," she stopped. "I couldn't. There was no way."

"So, I went on, and I lived," She took a shattered breath, her voice lost in the emotion, "and it tore me apart."

"So," Sara wiped a tear away, "I won't go through that again. I won't lose what little bit I have left of you. Of him." Her voice hardened, her armor back up, "either you're him, or you're no one."

She then turned and walked away, hiding the tears in her eyes, and the holes in her heart. She could feel Snart's eyes burning into her as she walked, so she sped up.

Sara rushed out of the room, sensing that her walls were crumbling and it was too late. She stumbled into her room, collapsing onto the floor, pounding her fist on the wall. The man she loved was back from the dead and she couldn't bring herself to hear him speak to her, to look at her.

She needed vodka.

So, here's the deal, I don't have a ton of time to myself, so I'm trying my best to publish this all. I know it's short, but I'm trying to get as much done as fast as I can. I figured better it be short than not there.

Please review and comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**I just want to thank everyone for all of the favorites, follows, and reviews! I'd have posted this sooner, but my computer went to crap and I had to fix it. Anyways - enjoy, and please review any thoughts you might have for the next chapter! I haven't decided how I'm gonna work that one yet.**

 **I own nothing.**

Sara walked out of her room, heading for the dining area, where Mick hid the good stuff. Mainly scotch, but some vodka too - her personal favorite. Perhaps it wasn't so accidental that she was heading to his stash when she had her own.

She sighed, slouching against the wall of the kitchen, curling her hands into fists. Breathe in. Breathe out.

After a few moments of very tense breathing (who knew breathing could be tense?), Sara heard the sound of heavy boots and could smell the stench of sweat.

Mick.

She got up and grabbed one of the better bottles of vodka, pouring out two shots. She downed them both at once, not bothering to wait for Mick to reach her.

As the vodka slid down her throat, Sara felt that sweet, burning sensation as the liquid made it down to her stomach. Felt it pool down into her lower abdomen, its effects quickly having an effect on her.

Mick sauntered in, a dark look on his face - he had heard the news. "Mick," Sara drawled, "join the party and have a drink." The tension was palpable.

He walked over, his hulking frame casting a shadow over her. She poured him a drink, sliding it to him. He downed it, seemingly unaffected by the alcohol burning down his throat.

Over the past few months, the two had become acquainted with each other's practices, developing a mutual understanding between them. It was rare that they would even speak a word during these exchanges, neither particularly concerned with talking. It had become a source of comfort for Sara, not having to worry about social conventions and awkward moments, just drinking.

Apparently, Mick wasn't satisfied with just booze today.

"Where is he?" The statement surprised Sara - she had figured he would know more by now.

"Med-bay." She paused, hesitating. "How much did you hear?"

"Not much," he took another shot, "and I very much intend to remedy that, so start talking, birdie." His words were harsh, cutting through all of the pretenses.

Sara could appreciate that, so she told him her story. By the time she had finished, her soul had hardened again, all of the emotion draining from her voice. Sara was gone again, replacing her with only a shell.

She was falling.

During the entire recount of what she had seen, Mick's head was turned downward, never once uttering a word. Now, he lifted his head and stared at Sara, his eyes betraying him. There was hope, shining in his eyes, staring her right in the face. She hadn't been the only one who had been hurt, the only one who had lost someone. Mick had too.

He had suffered far more than she, Sara reasoned, considering the depth of their deep, though often violent, friendship. If hope was what he wanted, then she would give it to him, despite her reluctance.

She spoke up, her voice almost hopeful, "You know, Mick, it could be him," she said tentatively, as if just now realizing the words could be true. "Gideon hasn't given a reason to suggest otherwise."

Mick turned towards her, "I wouldn't be surprised if that cold-hearted bastard was alive." He paused for several long moments, collecting his thoughts. "He always had a plan. Maybe this was one of them." His voice was soft like silk, covering her like a blanket in winter.

And then it happened - all of this complete and utter bullshit - it became real.

It was terrifying.

It wasn't that she didn't know this was real - far from it, having had more than her fair share of dreams like this. This was different, this was real. This was different. She wasn't the hero that would save the day, she wasn't the damsel in distress. She was just an emotionally vulnerable girl who was too confused to do anything worth a damn.

But, despite all of that, she still couldn't get herself to face Snart. She was trapped in her own desperation, unable to free herself from her self-created torture. Unable to escape the grasps of her own terror.

Her silence not going unnoticed, Mick spoke up. "You should talk to him." He paused, as if silently accepting something he always knew. "I may have known him longer, but it's you he wants to talk to. Needs to talk to, even," he conceded.

He continued, "despite whatever you may be feeling, however much shit you're dealing with, he, real or not, is a gift." His eyes burned into her. "A chance to get some stuff off your shoulders. A chance to say goodbye. So don't waste it, Lance.

"Take it."

 **Cool ending, huh? I liked it. Sorry it took so long. Feel free to message me any suggestions for the next chapters.**

 **~BadWolfGirl205**


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